


Wait and See

by Prentice



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alpha Martin Whitly, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Consent Issues due to A/B/O dynamics, Daddy Kink, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Malcolm is 17, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Malcolm Bright, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prentice/pseuds/Prentice
Summary: Malcolm's seventeen years old when his father finally claims him.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 25
Kudos: 249





	Wait and See

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my January 'What If? challenge (#1 - A/B/O; Unhealthy Relationship). Please note that this is an alternate universe in which Martin was never caught. The whys and hows of that, I leave to your imagination. 
> 
> As always, check the tags. I'm not your mum, your bff, or your therapist and your reading habits are _your_ responsibility so be informed and empowered and have fun!

Malcolm Whitly’s seventeen years old when his father finally claims him. It isn’t, strictly speaking, what he’s expecting it to be: his father’s hands sliding over his skin, gentle and slow, as the flush of his first real heat spreads through him like wildfire through grass. The uncomfortable wetness of his own slick – embarrassingly pungent despite still having his boxers on – heavy and trickling between his thighs as his father helps him step shakily out of his sweat-soaked sleepwear and into his already turned down bed.

He nearly sobs at how good it feels; his clean sheets cool against his overheated flesh as he shuffles and shifts against his bedding. The feel of his father’s hands – strong and steady against his skin – soothing something inside him as he shamelessly grinds the heel of one of his palms against his achingly hard cock. Unable and unwilling to care that his father – his _Alpha_ , a dark and needy part of his mind purrs; a fresh gush of slick drenching the inside of his boxers – can see exactly what he’s doing.

His heat cycle’s too far gone for that. The influx of omegan-hormones sneaking up on him like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus; heat and need and something nearly primal stirring in his chest as he stumbles downstairs to find an empty home. The scent of his mother’s lingering perfume – floral and sweet – making him feel nauseous and dizzy as he stares blankly down at the note his mother left him on the kitchen table, her flowing flowery penmanship hard to decipher even though he already knows what it’s going to say.

She and his sister will be gone most of the day. The mother-daughter bonding his mother insists on forcing Ainsley to participate in kicking into high-gear now that they’re on winter break from school. Rosario, their housekeeper cum occasional cook, has left some leftovers in the fridge for him if he’s hungry. His father’s at work. Call either of them if he needs anything.

Which he does. His fingers shaking as he calls his father’s office, breath hitching in his lungs as he waits and waits for the man to answer, mind cloudy with the need for – for – _something_. He doesn’t know.

His father, maybe.

Yes, his father. Dr. Whitly. Martin. _Alpha_.

He needs the man here now.

Home.

With Malcolm.

It’s an emergency.

_I’m in heat, dad. Come home._

And Martin does.

Faster than Malcolm expects. Faster than he hopes. His father’s bright blue eyes burning as he barges through the doorway, his gaze sweeping over him like the slow slide of a caress.

“My sweet boy,” his father breathes as soon as he has Malcolm in his arms, nose burying itself in his sweaty locks even as his lips press a firm dry kiss against his temple. “My sweet darling boy. My Malcolm. Let’s get you upstairs and out of these sweaty clothes, shall we?”

Whimpering, Malcolm nods, nose dragging against his father’s neck, his mouth open against his sweater as he drags in a deep needy lungful of his father’s scent. It’s as familiar as it is soothing; peppery and dark, with the musky tang of the oil he uses in his beard every morning. It makes him whimper again, a sudden uncontrollable rush of slick spilling between his ass cheeks.

Blushing hotly, Malcolm groans, shaking fingers clutching at his father’s sweater.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Martin murmurs, lips pressing another kiss against his skin as one of his hands drags slowly down his back, fingertips dipping just below Malcolm’s waistband. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

Nodding again, Malcolm allows himself to be maneuvered up the stairs, body trembling so badly he’s forced to rely on his father’s guidance to get him where he needs to go. The dizzyingly distracting heat inside him rising and raging with every step; stomach clenching hotly as he shakily makes it to the landing. The few feet left to his bedroom seemingly having doubled sometime when he wasn’t looking.

“That’s it, Malcolm,” his father encourages, voice a warm and comforting balm as they work their way towards his doorway. “Almost there, my boy. Just a few more steps. There you go, darling.”

Shivering, Malcolm can’t help but whine, another gush of slick flowing out of him as his cock twitches painfully in his boxers, feet stumbling clumsily beneath him. His father – _Alpha_ , his mind insists– is all but forced to carry him the last few steps into his bedroom. It’s a surprising show of strength that sends a strange and helpless jolt of _want_ burning powerfully through his veins.

“Dad,” Malcolm whimpers – slurs, really – sweat trickling along his brow as his father holds him up against him, the warm weight of the man’s presence burning against his side. “S’hot.”

“I know, darling boy. I’ve got you,” Martin soothes, hands catching against Malcolm’s sleep shirt, fingers flexing against the damp fabric. “Let’s get you out of these clothes. You’ll feel better.”

And he does, really.

The loss of his sweaty nightclothes enough to make him feel like he can breathe again, if only just, but it’s not enough to beat back the heat inside him entirely. His slick is still flowing out of him in obscene little gushes and his cock is so hard it hurts. No, _he_ hurts; his body melting with the need for an Alpha – _his_ Alpha, _his, his, his_ – to touch him, mount him, _breed_ him already… _please, please, please, Alpha_ …

“Darling boy,” his dad murmurs then, hands sweeping over Malcolm’s sides, his stomach, and up to his chest. Long fingers brushing over his nipples, which harden and peak instantly at the touch. “I’m here.”

“Dad,” Malcolm pants, eyes squeezing shut against the sensation even as his palm grinds harder against his cock. His other hand fumbling clumsily against his boxer’s waistband as he tries to pull them off and keep touching himself at the same time. “Dad, _please_. I din’ expect…s’hot. ‘M so _hot_. Need to…need…”

“Shh, Mal, shh,” his father hushes him, hands dragging along his skin once more until they can catch both of his in a firm clasp, knuckles brushing against his twitching cock as he forces Malcolm’s hands away from himself.

Sobbing, Malcolm writhes against his bed; cock jerking and jumping and throbbing painfully at the sudden loss of stimulation. His father’s small touch causing another gush of slick to soak his boxers. The heat-scent of his own arousal growing heavier in the air as his slick and sweat drench his bedding.

“I know, my boy,” Martin says, voice lower, rougher, as he keeps a firm grip on Malcolm’s wrists; the Alpha timber in his voice making Malcolm shudder and swallow, eyes snapping open to meet the man’s gaze. “I know, but you were hurting yourself and I can’t have that.”

Grip shifting, Martin smiles, bright eyes crinkling at the corners as his thumb gently caresses Malcolm’s fluttering and all-too-vulnerable pulse points. “Don’t you know how important you are to me, sweet boy? I could never let you be hurt.” Eyes darkening, his father’s smile abruptly fades, hand lifting one of Malcolm’s wrists until it’s hovering near his mouth. Slowly, gaze burning into Malcolm’s own, he presses a firm and proprietary kiss there. “By anyone.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Malcolm gasps, fingers fluttering in his father’s hold as his eyelids lower and his thighs part. Head-turning to bare his neck in a subconscious show of invitation as his cock twitches obviously in his sopping boxers. “ _Please_.” 

Smile returning slightly, Martin settles himself next to Malcolm’s hip, hands carefully keeping their hold on his wrists as he looks down at Malcolm fondly; his eyes as dark and as predatory as Malcolm has ever seen.

“Soon, dear boy, soon,” he chides gently, fingers squeezing around Malcolm’s wrists. “But first, I need you to listen to me. Can you be a good boy and do that for me, Malcolm? Or do I need to let you go?”

As if to demonstrate his point, Martin loosens his hold slightly.

Whimpering in alarm, Malcolm shakes his head, stomach twisting unpleasantly. “No! No, I’ll – ” swallowing, he blinks hard, willing himself to try to think through the fog of hormones currently coursing through his system, “I’ll l-listen.”

Grip tightening in approval, his father beams.

“Good boy,” he praises warmly, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin on Malcolm’s inner wrists as he shudders helplessly at the praise. The need to please his Alpha – _his, his, his_ – skip-skidding over his nerve-endings as his cock twitches painfully in his boxers. The urge to pull away, rollover, and _present_ to his father a nearly overwhelming impulse.

“Now then,” Martin continues, predatory eyes sweeping knowingly over Malcolm. “We have a choice here, my boy. I can give you a little relief now before your mother and sister come home, and then go arrange for them to spend the rest of this week and next with the Whitcombe’s; Lord knows neither will mind. Your mother’s been trying to get Sandy Whitcombe to invite her to her spring soiree for months now and I know your sister enjoys spending time with Sandy’s girls, even if they _are_ a little boy crazy these days, and you and I can have the entire house to ourselves, or…”

Trailing off, Martin gives Malcolm’s wrists another firm squeeze, eyes crinkling fondly at the corners when Malcolm croons unsteadily, legs shuffling restlessly against the sheets.

“ _Or_ ,” he continues, one hand loosening its hold around his wrist to trail down his arm and over his shoulder until he can curl it carefully around the base of Malcolm’s neck. Fingertips resting right where a traditional mating bite is meant to go. Mewling, Malcolm shivers, cock throbbing in his soaked boxers.

Smile widening, Martin squeezes his neck gently.

“I can go downstairs and get the station wagon ready and you and I can go on one of our hunting trips,” he offers, voice deepening into a low enticing rumble. “I know how much you enjoy those.” Fingers releasing Malcolm’s other wrist, he leans slowly forward, freehand balancing on the mattress as he brings their faces’ close together; breath curling against Malcolm’s lips as his other hand once more squeezes around Malcolm’s neck. “How much we _both_ do, dear boy.”

Gasping, Malcolm trembles beneath his father, a spurt of pre-come drooling out his cock even as a burst of slick rushes obscenely out his body.

“What do you say?” Martin asks softly, mouth hovering over Malcolm’s own in the promise of a kiss. “Do we stay, or do we go, my boy? It’s entirely your choice.”

Mouth opening, Malcolm drags in a deep lungful of his father’s scent, eyes nearly rolling in his head at how incredibly good he smells – deeper and richer than before, the heady notes of his Alpha – _his, his, his_ – filling up his senses – before he swallows thickly, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.

“G-go,” he whispers hoarsely, eyes wet and fingers fisting tightly, tremblingly, in his father’s sweater. “Go, dad. _Alpha_. I want – _please_.”

“Good boy,” his father rumbles quietly before slowly leaning back, eyes gleaming with hungry satisfaction at how incredibly wrecked Malcolm must look. “Such a good, sweet boy. _My_ boy. Just like you always have been.”

Hand squeezing around Malcolm’s neck, his voice deepens slightly as he asks: “Isn’t that right, Malcolm? You’re _my_ good boy. Daddy’s boy. Aren’t you?”

Whimpering, Malcolm nods as best he can, neck arching into his father’s grip. “Y-yours, Alpha. A-always y-yours.”

“From the moment you were born,” Martin agrees, grip tightening momentarily before loosening once again, hand sliding away from Malcolm’s neck as he strokes his fingers over his chest. Fingertips plucking teasingly over Malcolm’s nipples before gliding down his stomach, thumb dipping playfully into his bellybutton. “I knew it even then, my boy. Knew it the moment I saw you coming out of your mother: screaming like the devil and covered in blood.”

Eyes roving devouringly over Malcolm’s writhing form, his father hums admiringly. “I knew you were meant to be _mine_ , Malcolm. _My_ boy. _No one_ else’s.”

As if to emphasize the point, his father’s hand slides beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers curling around Malcolm’s cock in a tight – almost _too_ tight – grip that Malcolm can’t help but arch into. His hips jerking up and off the bed as his father circles his thumb maddeningly against the head of his erection. Pre-come smearing over his fingers as he toys teasingly with Malcolm’s leaking slit.

“We’re the same, darling boy,” Martin continues, voice a low and hypnotic rumble that flays over Malcolm’s nerve endings even as he plants his feet on his mattress, hips rolling into his father’s grasp. “Two sides of the same beautiful coin, my dear Malcolm. One might even say soulmates.”

Panting, Malcolm’s eyes squeeze shut around the words, eyelids prickling wetly as his cock rocks into his father’s grasp, cock slit drooling a steady stream. He feels as though he’s burning. As though his entire body is melting into his father’s hand; his chest fluttering and tightening, the low pull of his own arousal making his toes curl against the sheets.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” his father encourages, hand working over Malcolm’s cock. “Take what you need, Malcolm. I promise I’ll give you more later. I’ll give you _everything_. My love, my bite, my cock. I’ll even knot you, darling boy. Breed you like the good sweet omega you are until you’re fat and swollen with my come.”

Choking on a sob, Malcolm fucks himself faster into his father’s grasp, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes as his stomach clenches hotly at the thought. His slick is rushing out of him like a flood that drips onto his bedsheets. The wet dirty rustle of his sodden boxers moving against his skin a nearly maddening counterpoint to his own hiccupping cries.

“Would you like that, my darling?” His father asks almost tenderly, fingers playing over his cockhead. “I think you will, Mal. I think you’ll love it. You always did like sitting in my lap. Playing at riding your Alpha’s cock even before you presented.”

Freehand lifting from the mattress, Martin cradles the jut of Malcolm’s jaw until Malcolm’s eyes open, staring at him dazedly. “You don’t know how hard it’s been for me, dear boy. Waiting for your heat. Waiting for you to realize…”

Hand twisting around Malcolm’s erection, his father thumbs hard at Malcolm’s drooling cock slit, eyes almost manic as Malcolm nearly screams at how good it feels. Fingers clawing at his father’s chest as he scratches and pulls at his sweater. Head thrashing against his pillow as his stomach clenches and his balls ache with the sensation.

“’M close, d-dad,” Malcolm moans, hips jerking up and up as his cock throbs angrily, slick trickling up the swell of his ass as his thighs burn and shake from trying to keep himself lifted in his father’s grip. ‘”M so close. Need – _Alpha_ – need _you_ – ”

“I know what you need, darling boy,” his father murmurs before he pulls against Malcolm’s scrambling hold, head lowering as he presses kisses to Malcolm’s chin, his chest, the trembling dip of his stomach and then…

Wailing, Malcolm arches off the bed, cock spurting into his father’s mouth as Martin sucks hungrily at his cockhead. His hand moving hard and fast around the rest of Malcolm’s spasming cock as he comes and comes and _comes_ down his father’s throat. Slick splashing out of him as his body clenches down helplessly on nothing.

“ _Dad_ ,” Malcolm chokes, one hand clutching at the bedsheets as the other one buries itself in his father’s hair. His fingers probably clenching too hard as he lurches helplessly at a particularly enthusiastic suck. “ _Alpha_.”

Swallowing around his mouthful, Martin laves at Malcolm’s cockhead, tongue licking tenderly over his slit before deliberately pulling back. Spit and come dribbling onto his beard as he pumps his hands once, twice, three times over Malcolm’s barely softening cock, drawing out his orgasm for as long as possible, before giving his wet cockhead one last loving suck.

“Dad,” Malcolm breathes, fingers shakily unclenching from his father’s hair as Martin sat up slowly, freehand lifting to wipe his mouth as his other hand cradled Malcolm’s cock. “That…that was…”

“Just the beginning, dear boy,” Martin rasps lowly, lips wet and puffy, and eyes as dark as anything. “It’s just the beginning, Malcolm. Just you wait and see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any lingering grammar or tense issues.


End file.
